


In Bad Faith

by Pontiffa



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gaslighting, Guilt, Implied Sexual Content, Insecure Anakin Skywalker, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Not A Fix-It, Sith Sorcery, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-12 21:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontiffa/pseuds/Pontiffa
Summary: An AU where Anakin initially turns down Palpatine's offer to sit on the Council. No matter, Sidious always gets what he wants in the end.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a Fix-it. Though Anakin makes slightly different choices, I see him as a tragic figure who is ultimately doomed to the same fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin turns down Palpatine's offer to sit on the Jedi Council. Now Palpatine gives Anakin the cold shoulder, while Anakin desperately tries to win back his affection.

Obi-Wan had volunteered to help Jocasta Nu reorganize a section of the Temple Archives, when he came upon him by accident.

“Ah, there you are,” Obi-Wan said, stepping out from behind a shelf, a box of datafiles under his arm. Anakin had been strangely absent for the past several days, but he never thought to look for the boy in the Archives. Though perhaps he should have. “I heard you put in a request to access the Holocron Vault,” clearing his throat when his former Padawan failed to acknowledge him. Anakin was sitting hunched over a viewing screen, scrolling through old records, an empty cup of caf at his feet. Obi-Wan frowned at the sight. Beverages were not permitted in the Archives, but he decided not to rebuke the boy for this small indiscretion. Instead he asked, “May I inquire as to why?”

Anakin had been anticipating this question, and he already had an excuse at the ready. “I’m searching for any information I can find that might aid in my mission,” he said, deliberately vague.

“Your mission?”

Anakin clenched his mechanical fist, lifting his head to squint tiredly at Obi-Wan behind a curtain of unwashed, dark blond hair. “My mission to spy on the Chancellor,” he said, voice raw with emotion and ragged from lack of sleep, “or have you forgotten? You were the one who asked me to spy on him in the first place, remember?”

Obi-Wan sighed, “I remember,” eyeing the collection of files Anakin had amassed around him. “Are you looking for anything in particular, or…?”

“I’m searching for any information on the Sith.”

“Well, that’s quite a broad category!” Obi-Wan exclaimed.

“A Sith has infiltrated the Chancellor’s inner circle, or so you _claim_. How am I supposed to identify him if I don’t know what I’m looking for?”

Obi-Wan stroked his neatly trimmed beard. “The glowing yellow eyes are probably a good hint.”

“Very funny,” Anakin grunted, in no mood for jokes.

“And how goes your mission so far?” Obi-Wan continued. “While we’re on the subject.” He shifted his weight to lean against the edge of the table, idly flipping through the acrylic pages of an old flimsiplast book, a dictionary of the Sith language.

“Not well,” Anakin said. He grit his teeth in frustration. “My interaction with the Chancellor has been…limited. I think he’s avoiding me.”

“Avoiding you?” Obi-Wan stared at him, lips parted in astonishment; if Anakin were in a better mood, he might’ve found the expression comical. “Chancellor Palpatine?”

Anakin ducked his head, unable to meet his Master’s bright, questioning gaze. “I called and scheduled an appointment for today,” he said, voice wavering, “but I haven’t seen him since — “

_Since the ballet. _

Anakin flinched at the memory.

He’d seen the Chancellor only once since _respectfully_ declining his offer to sit on the Jedi Council as a personal representative, and that had been at the Galaxy Opera House during a showing of Squid Lake by the Mon Calamari Ballet. Palpatine hadn’t actually invited him, but Anakin had managed to bluster his way into the Chancellor’s private box seat, citing “official Jedi business”. This was not entirely a lie. The Jedi had asked Anakin to spy on the Chancellor, after all. (And it was rather difficult to spy on someone who was deliberately avoiding you.) Not that Anakin had any intention of spying on his old friend, but he wanted a chance to speak with him. To set things right.

After refusing his offer to sit on the Council, Palpatine had made no further attempts to contact him, and his silence was deafening. Anakin had reached out several times, but all of his overtures were cooly rebuffed by the Chancellor’s aid, Sly Moore. Feeling desperate, he took a chance, tracking the man down at the Opera House and bursting in on him during the first act. Palpatine greeted him with a polite nod and a thin smile. He seemed neither surprised nor overly offended by Anakin’s uninvited presence, but he very pointedly did not invite the boy to sit, turning his cheek without saying a word. 

Conscious of his large frame taking up space, Anakin crouched in the aisle until he was level with Chancellor. When Palpatine said nothing, Mas Amedda took it upon himself to intervene. “The Chancellor is trying to watch the ballet,” the Chagrian growled at him, pitching forward in his seat. “If you wish to speak with him, you may do so after the performance.”

Anakin ignored the hulking figure of the Vice Chair and stared intently at Palpatine, willing him to say something,_ imploring_ him, but the Chancellor was seemingly entranced by the strange music, eyes bloodshot and heavily-lidded with sleep. Anakin felt his heart clench, and was almost bowled over by a wave of guilt. Palpatine looked more exhausted than Anakin had ever seen him, and he realized suddenly how fragile the old man was. How aged he had become. Unlike his predecessors, Anakin knew the Chancellor allowed himself very few personal indulgences, and yet here he was, intruding upon a much needed moment of peaceful respite.

Gathering his dark cloak around him, he ducked away, shuffling down the aisle and hunkering into a seat by the door. He contemplated leaving (he didn’t want to suffer through the rest of the ballet) but he couldn’t let this opportunity pass, not when the Chancellor was finally within his grasp after managing to elude him for several weeks. He kept his gaze fixed on the man’s silver head, as if he expected him to vanish at any moment, his emotions fluctuating and roiling in concordance with the music, feelings of guilt, insecurity, anger, sadness, and even jealously.

Yes, jealously. He was jealous of the beings clustered around the Chancellor, of Mas Amedda and the loathsome Sate Pestage, who arrived late, and of Sly Moore. The alien woman was seated beside Palpatine, leaning into him every so often as the two conversed, exchanging secretive glances. Anakin watched their body language closely. He had heard rumors about their relationship, but he’d never given the matter much thought until now. Again, he experienced a twinge of jealously; not nearly as intense or straightforward as what he’d felt towards Clovis, but Anakin was surprised by it nevertheless. Palpatine was kindly but aloof. He had only a few close friends and no family to speak of. Anakin knew the Chancellor regarded him as a surrogate heir (a beloved nephew or a son, perhaps) and he’d always flattered himself with the knowledge that he alone occupied some special place in the man’s heart.

He knew he was being selfish, wanting Palpatine all for himself, but he couldn’t bare to think that there might be others who were as close to the Chancellor, possibly even closer. The man was one of Anakin’s oldest and dearest friends and his absence would leave a gaping hole in the boy’s life. But Palpatine, as Chancellor, was surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of doting, obsequious beings who would leap at the chance to take Anakin’s place by his side. The thought made his chest tighten until he was silently gasping for breath. He could not let that happen.

_He would not_.

He approached the Chancellor boldly after the show, projecting a false sense of assurance as he shouldered his way through the crowd of richly dressed onlookers who had gathered around Palpatine to gawk. Palpatine himself appeared as a small dark figure, surrounded on all sides by his red-robed sentries who had formed a tight, protective circle around him.

“I will escort the Chancellor to his transport,” Anakin said, stepping forward. 

There was a tense moment as Palpatine deliberated, and Anakin let out a small sigh of relief when the Chancellor dispersed the Red Guards with a flick of the wrist. The faceless men retreated without a word, but they continued to follow at a watchful distance, their long cloaks swishing against the carpet as Anakin led Palpatine through the curving halls of the Opera House, using his much larger body to shield the Chancellor from view until they reached the fire exit which had been secured as an escape route. The spiraling staircase was rather steep and Anakin offered Palpatine his arm for support as they began their descent. The older man applied only the slightest pressure to his wrist, retracting his pale hand into the velvet sleeve of his robe as soon as they reached the bottom.

Anakin accompanied Palpatine into the back of the armored limo and rode with him to 500 Republica. The Chancellor was uncharacteristically quiet, but he politely responded to every clumsy attempt Anakin made at small talk. At least the man wasn’t ignoring him anymore, but something felt _off_. Anakin had never found it difficult to speak to Palpatine before. Why now? What about their dynamic had changed? Thinking on it, he realized that Palpatine was not leading the conversation as he usually did. Rather he was allowing Anakin to set the pace. This was different. Usually the Chancellor would prompt him with questions, which allowed Anakin to do most of the talking. (And of course Anakin talked mostly about himself.) He flushed with embarrassment at the realization of how one-sided their relationship truly was. He had known Palpatine for many years, and yet the man was still something of a mystery to him.

“Sir?” He asked, noting the pensive look on the Chancellor’s face. “What are you thinking about?”

Palpatine was pleasantly surprised by this question, lips twitching in what appeared to be genuine amusement as he slowly turned his head to peer at Anakin. There was a faraway look in his eyes that seemed almost wistful. “I’m thinking of an old legend I once heard,” he said at last, “the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise.” 

“Anakin?” A soft voice shook him out of his trance. He blinked up at Obi-Wan, hovering over him with an expression of concern.

“Sorry,” Anakin said, jolting upright. “Lost my train of thought.” He lowered himself to stare at the viewing screen, rubbing his eyes as the words began to blur. He had barely slept since that fateful night at the Opera House, parting ways with Palpatine in a bit of a stupor.

_The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise…_

Anakin had thought of little else since hearing tell of the Sith legend, obsessively playing and replaying the strange conversation over and over in his head. He'd taken up refuge in the Archives, hoping to find some reference to the mysterious Sith Lord, who as of yet was proving to be an elusive quarry. Even Jocasta Nu had been puzzled when he’d mentioned the name in passing. Of course there was still the Holocron Vault, but he was beginning to lose hope. His search on the HoloNet had yielded nothing, but that was to be expected. The Sith Order was shrouded in secrecy, thought to be extinct until recently, which then begged the question: how exactly did the Chancellor come into possession of such knowledge?

“Anakin, regarding your mission,” Obi-Wan said slowly, delicately. “You don’t think the Chancellor suspects…”

Anakin snapped his head up. “What? No!” His voice rising in alarm, “How could he? I haven’t said anything.” If he sounded guilty, it was because he had been tempted to confess all to the Chancellor. The only thing that had stopped him was fear of alienating the man even further.

He had not told Obi-Wan of Palpatine’s offer to grant him a seat on the Council. It was a private matter as far as Anakin was concerned. In truth he was flattered by the offer. He knew Palpatine was well-meaning, but he also knew the Council would not see it that way. Obi-Wan wouldn’t see it that way. They’d see it as another executive overreach, another power grab, and it would only breed more resentment and more distrust.

“I’m not accusing you. I’m just asking.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I never wanted to put you in this position, Anakin. Despite my personal feelings on the matter, I know you consider Palpatine to be a friend.”

“He is my friend,” Anakin interrupted.

“Even so, you must realize that tensions between the Council and the Chancellor’s Office are strained.This war has brought out the worst in all of us, I’m afraid, and Palpatine isn’t like his predecessors.”

“He isn’t just another pawn of the Jedi Council, you mean.”

Obi-Wan looked saddened by this remark, but he let it go. “I am simply trying to convey to you what’s at stake. If Palpatine ever suspected that the Jedi had tasked one of their own to spy on him —”

“It would be my head.”

“Anakin, please,” Obi-Wan said, wincing in exasperation. “I seriously doubt that Palpatine would have you executed.”

“No. But it is treasonous, isn’t it?” Anakin spoke in a low voice, glancing to one side. “Spying on the Chancellor?”

Obi-Wan hesitated, but before he could answer Anakin’s Comlink beeped, flashing an automated message to remind him of his upcoming appointment with the Chancellor.

“I have to go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin has his long awaited meeting with Palpatine, who drops a few hints.

“What can I do for you, Knight Skywalker?” The Chancellor asked, folding his slender hands neatly on his desk. He had a polite if somewhat vacant smile on his face - the very picture of serenity - but Anakin sensed a change in both his tone of voice and his demeanor. Not a coldness, per se, but a distinct lack of warmth. Padme had warned him that Palpatine had a reputation for being extremely vindictive and unforgiving of his enemies. Anakin had never believed her, but clearly she knew her fellow Naboo better than he did.

Anakin thought back to the ballet. They had parted ways on fairly good terms, but whatever progress he had made with the Chancellor had seemingly disappeared overnight. He slowed his pace, feeling unsure of himself as he’s scuffed across the red carpet, dragging his feet up the shallow stair rise leading to the silver dais. Palpatine was sitting with his back to the setting sun, pale blue eyes tracking the boy’s approach.

“Knight Skywalker?” Anakin said with a playful grimace. Normally he relished his title of Jedi Knight, but he’d become so used to the Chancellor referring to him as simply Anakin (or, more affectionately, calling him 'my dear boy') that such a formality felt like a slap in the face.

Palpatine blinked owlishly, tilting his head in a manner that was similarly bird-like. “Is that not your title? Or have the Jedi Council finally granted you the rank of Master?”

“You know they haven’t,” Anakin said, repressing the urge to snarl as he fell into his usual chair across from Palpatine’s desk. He didn’t wait to be offered a seat. He didn’t want there to be another layer of formality between them.

“I know nothing of the sort,” Palpatine said with a delicate shrug. “I am not privy to the machinations of the Jedi Council, and I’ve not spoken to you since the ballet. A lot can change in the span of a few days.”

Anakin closed his eyes as his mind began to drift. The ballet…The Tragedy of Darth Plaques the Wise…Padme...

“_Anakin_.” The boy startled back to the present, his heart hammering in his chest. He was sitting across from Palpatine, breathing the strangely chilled air of the Chancellor’s scarlet office, a room Anakin had over the years come to associate with feelings of warmth. Palpatine was shooting him a narrow gaze, his fingers tightly laced to keep from twitching in annoyance. “I hope you don’t mean to waste my time,” he said after a strained pause.

Anakin cleared his throat. “S-sorry, sir,“ Palpatine raised a brow at the slur in his voice, “I haven’t been sleeping well.” Palpatine didn’t seem terribly moved by this confession, causing the boy to frown. Normally the Chancellor took every opportunity to fawn over him. He was half tempted to ask for a cup of tea, the same brew Palpatine used to offer him as a youngling whenever he was feeling unwell.

“Anakin, my schedule is quite full,” Palpatine said, glancing at the chronometer on his desk. “In agreeing to meet with you, I was led to believe that you had something very important to tell me.”

“I do,“ Anakin shot back, temper flaring. He took a deep breath, bracing for the task ahead. He needed to do this, both for his own peace of mind and because he was shrewd enough to understand that a politician like Palpatine was unlikely to give him something for nothing. “Sir, I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’ve decided to reconsider your generous offer. I would be honored to act as your representative to the Jedi Council.” He had practiced this speech on the ride over, and his words sounded stilted. He still had misgivings about accepting the post, but he was willing to do anything to work his way back into Palpatine’s good graces. If the Masters protested, he could simply point out that by accepting the post he now had every opportunity to spy on the Chancellor.

He forced a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. “If you’ll still have me,” he added with a nervous grin. Anakin had expected Palpatine to react positively to the news, rather than simply stare at him.

At last the Chancellor broke off his gaze and unclasped his hands to brush an invisible spec of dust from the surface of his desk. “I will consider it,” he said in a bland tone that betrayed nothing. “Now, is there anything else you wished to speak to me about?”

Anakin’s gaped at him in disbelief. Was Palpatine refusing him? No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t! This was some sort of power play, a way to assuage his wounded pride. ‘I refused him now he wants to refuse me?’ He wouldn’t dare. The Chancellor was nothing if not pragmatic. Still, Anakin wasn’t about to beg. He squared his shoulders, furious that Palpatine was acting this way.

“I’m not finished discussing my terms,” he said, emboldened by the bitter anger rising in his throat. A strange new desire was bubbling up in him, a desire to exert his power over the most powerful man in the galaxy. He wanted to stand up and loom over the small, seated figure of the Chancellor, to cower him behind his desk. The desire flashed even hotter when Palpatine smirked at him in a knowing way, steepling his thin fingers as he leaned back in his chair. His throne.

“Terms?”

Anakin shot him a look that was both conciliatory and pleading. He could not afford to antagonize this man any further, not when there was so much at stake. “Please, sir, I’m willing to accept the post as a personal favor to you. But I need your help with something in return. I need —“ Anakin choked on his words, tears pricking the corner of the eyes in frustration. He punched his thigh with his mechanical fist, causing his leg to spasm involuntarily. 

Palpatine made a soothing noise, and Anakin felt himself melt beneath that kindly gaze. He sank back in his chair and let out a shuddering breath as the tension drained from his tried body. He had spent the past serval days hunched over a viewing screen, and his neck and shoulders ached from the strain. 

The Chancellor observed him, a curious expression on his aged face. “What do you need, Anakin?” He asked in a soft, gentle voice.

Anakin stared at him searchingly, as if some clue might reveal itself beneath the watery surface of those crystal blue eyes. “Sir, where did you hear of the legend?” He asked. Clarifying, “The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise. I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find any reference to it.”

The delicate skin around the Chancellor’s eyes wrinkled in amusement. “You’ve looked everywhere in the span of a few days? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I’ve looked in the Jedi Archives, and I did a search on the HoloNet. What’s so funny?” He demanded, sitting upright.

“Its a large galaxy, Anakin,” Palpatine said, failing to entirely suppress his mirth. The Chancellor was generally quite stoic and unflinching, but there was an impish quality to him that had a tendency to surface at odd moments. “I assure you, dear boy,” Anakin’s heart skipped a beat at the term of endearment, “the culmination of all knowledge is not to be found in either the Jedi Temple or the HoloNet. I myself am a collector of rare artifacts, as you know.” He gestured to an abstract sculpture, hollow-eyed and vaguely humanoid in shape. “Though my own collection is relatively modest, I have managed to amass a great deal of knowledge over the years. Yes, a great deal of knowledge, which brings with it a great many secrets. The Jedi are not so omnipotent as they would have you believe. There is much they don’t know. Much they fail to understand.”

Anakin folded his arms to ward off a sudden chill as the room faintly dimmed, the waning sun vanishing behind a sheen of oily gray smog. He bit his cheek in thought, mulling over Palpatine’s words in his head. The Chancellor was precise in his use of language, but Anakin sensed that there was much left unsaid. What was Palpatine hinting at? What did the Jedi fail to understand?

He chose his own words carefully, “Sir, if you have some secret knowledge about the S—“ No. That wasn’t the right tact. He didn’t want it to seem as though he were accusing Palpatine of anything. He began again with a note of concern tempering the edge of his voice, “Chancellor, for your own safety, any dangerous artifacts you may possess should be turned over to the Jedi Order for safekeeping. It is the responsibility of the Jedi to safeguard —“

“Dangerous?” Palpatine scoffed at the word, silver eyebrows bristling, and Anakin realized that this had been precisely the wrong thing to say. “Knowledge is not dangerous, Anakin.”

“With all do respect, Chancellor, I disagree,” Anakin said, looking Palpatine in the eye and flinching at the scorn he was met with in that piercing gaze, flecked gold in the evening light. The boy hesitated. Even if Anakin was right on principle, he knew Palpatine could talk circles around him, and he had learned early on in their friendship not to argue with such a seasoned politician. He didn’t want to argue. He hadn’t come here to argue (quite the opposite, in fact) but he was determined to finish his thought. “Sith artifacts have been known to corrupt the minds of force-sensitives and non-sensitives alike.”

“Sith artifacts!” Palpatine said in a loud, theatrical voice, as if he were speaking to a large crowd. He clutched his chest with a veiny blue hand.

“You said — “

“I said nothing of the sort. Wherever did you get such a notion? And what exactly are you accusing me of?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything.” For some reason, Anakin felt compelled to whisper. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean it like that. I thought you said…” He trailed off. Thinking back on their conversation, he realized that Palpatine was indeed correct. The Chancellor hadn’t mentioned the Sith. Anakin had merely inferred that. “You seemed to imply that you had possession of dangerous artifacts.”

“Those were your words, not mine,” Palpatine huffed. “And is that enough to warrant a Jedi investigation? Mere implication?”

Anakin sat back, stunned. “I’m not here to investigate you. Is that what you think?” The revelation made his head spin, and he closed his eyes to ward off a feeling of dizziness. His temples throbbed, pressure building in the base of his skull.

“What else am I to make of this interrogation?” Palpatine replied with a flicker of uncertainty. He seemed to shrink into his seat, turning his chair at an angle so he was no longer directly facing the boy across from him.

Anakin wanted to hurl the desk aside and reach out to his friend, but he restrained himself, leaning forward. “I’m not here to interrogate you,” he said, speaking slowly but firmly. At the moment Palpatine reminded him of a cornered animal in danger of lashing out. Padme often intimated that the Chancellor was growing paranoid as the war dragged on endlessly. "The Council doesn't even know I'm here. I came of my own free will."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Anakin insisted. "I came because I need to know more about the legend of Darth Plagueis. It’s very important.” He felt somewhat guilty, pressing the Chancellor for information, but it couldn't be helped. 

Palpatine let out a tired sigh. “Perhaps I’ve told you everything I know,” he said with a sidewards glance, watching Anakin for his reaction. The boy opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat. He suspected that Palpatine knew more than he was letting on, but he didn’t want to risk contradicting the Chancellor again in so sort a time. He snapped his jaw shut and remained silent, a wide, pleading look on his face. Palpatine shot him a sly smile. “Or perhaps not.” Anakin was inwardly elated by this soft-spoken confession of sorts, but he remained perfectly still as Palpatine became absorbed in smoothing out the creases of his robe. “And if I were to share my knowledge with you, Anakin, I presume you will put it good use?” He asked offhandedly.

“Of course!” Anakin cried. If he weren’t gripping the armrests of his chair, he might’ve leapt to his feet in excitement. “I wouldn’t be asking if not for a good reason.”

“And that reason is?”

Anakin hunched forward in defeat. He had been dreading this moment. “I can’t tell you,” he said, dropping his gaze to his lap. He held a breath, cheeks darkening as the seconds ticked by. Palpatine didn’t know about his secret marriage to Padme, although Anakin had been tempted to confide in him many times. If it were his secret alone, he would’ve confessed all, but he knew Padme would disapprove, and he couldn’t betray her trust.

“_I see_,” the Chancellor said at last.

The tone of the man’s voice made Anakin’s blood run cold. He snapped his head up, eyelashes wet with tears, “Please, sir, you have to trust me!”

“Trust you?” Palpatine snorted in derision. It was the most undignified sound Anakin had ever heard the man make.

“What are you saying?” Anakin rasped, swallowing a lump in his throat. “You don’t trust me? I thought you were my friend.”

Palpatine frowned sadly, but there was a triumphant gleam in his eye, as if he had been waiting for Anakin to say this. “Do friends spy on one another, Anakin?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin is desperate to save Padme. Meanwhile, his relationship with the Chancellor continues to deteriorate.

_“Do friends spy on one another, Anakin?”_

Anakin stared across the polished expanse of the desk in shock, his heart pounding in his throat. The Chancellor was still speaking, but Anakin could barely hear him over the sound of his own ragged breathing. A question formed on his lips. How? How had Palpatine found out?

In these times of war the Chancellor was purported to have spies everywhere. Had Palpatine managed to infiltrated the Jedi Council? Impossible. Anakin’s mission was strictly off-record, known to only the highest ranking members of the Council: Yoda, Mace Windu, and of course, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He thought back to his conversation with Obi-Wan in the Archives. There was no other explanation; someone must’ve overheard their exchange.

But who?

Anakin’s mind raced with possibilities, and he leapt to his feet in a panic.

Palpatine remained seated. “Will you admit that the Jedi Order asked you to spy on me?” He said in a dull monotone. Anakin shook his head wildly, blinking the tears from his eyes as his vision blurred. The Chancellor raised a brow and regarded him with a pitiless stare. “So you deny it?”

Anakin felt something lodge in his throat. Was this a trap? If Palpatine had proof that the Jedi were conspiring against him, why not go public with the information? Was he hoping to bait Anakin into a confession in order to do just that?

“Chancellor, I…” His voice tapered off into a growl, and he began to pace back and forth, torn. Palpatine deserved the truth, but the distrust between the Chancellor’s office and the Jedi Council was already impeding the war effort. Even the HoloNet was beginning to report on the growing rift behind the scenes. And while Palpatine’s approval rating was higher than ever, the same could not be said of the Jedi. If it was ever learned that the Jedi were spying on the Chancellor, the public outcry would be immense.

Palpatine bared his teeth in a grim smile, as if reading the boy’s mind. “I have no intention of denouncing you as a traitor,” he said, “if only for the sake of public morale. You are Anakin Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear. You are well loved by the people, though I cannot say the same for the rest of your Order. I’m sorry to say, but the public no longer trust the Jedi. And nor do I.”

Anakin cursed under his breath, clenching his fists. Damn Obi-Wan and the Council for putting him in this position. He stopped short and stood for a moment - paralyzed by an inarticulate rage - before lashing out. He upended his chair in a violent motion, kicking it off the raised dais and onto the red carpet below, where it landed with a thud. “You don’t understand,” he shouted, whipping around to face the old man, who twitched at the boy’s violent outburst. Feeling a burst of sadistic pleasure, Anakin straightened to his full height and loomed over the desk, pinning the Chancellor with his gaze.

Palpatine stared up at him in wide-eyed fascination, seemingly rendered mute. Then he let out a mournful sigh, “Oh, but I do,” pushing himself to a standing position. He swept towards the window, putting a safe distance between himself and Anakin while keeping a close eye on Jedi’s dark reflection in the glass. “I don’t blame you, Anakin. I know full well that the Council put you up to this. Your Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he paused, giving the boy time to fume, “he asked you to spy on me, didn’t he?”

Anakin grunted in affirmation and leaned against the desk to steady himself. It was no use denying it. He had never lied to Palpatine. He had withheld choice information - his marriage to Padme, for instance - but he never lied to his friend.

“I am your friend,” Palpatine said in a honeyed voice, “I will always be your friend. But you are a Jedi, Anakin, first and foremost. You must obey your _Masters_.”

Anakin bristled at the emphasis on the word. Palpatine seemed to be implying that he was a slave, an unthinking automaton who obeyed without question. Yes he was a Jedi, but he was still his own man. He opened his mouth to protest, “I’m not -“ when the door to the Chancellor’s office swished open.

Sate Pestage hurried into the room, trailed by a string of armored Red Guards. “Is everything alright, Excellency?” Pestage asked, breathing unevenly as his rushed up the stairs, his sallow cheeks pricked with color. The thin man shot Anakin a scathing look, beetle-black eyes flashing with malice and suspicion as he surveyed the room, pausing to examine the overturned chair. Anakin stared at his feet, flushed with shame. He’d lost his temper in front of the Chancellor before, but never to such an extent.

“Yes, yes,” Palpatine said distractedly. He looked slightly dazed, reaching a hand out for balance. Anakin moved towards him, but Pestage was quicker, appearing at Palpatine’s side in an instant. “Has the Delegation of 2000 arrived?” The Chancellor asked, pinching the other man’s arm in a white-knuckled grip.

Pestage nodded, his upper lip curling in distaste. “They’re waiting to be received.” Lowering his voice to whisper in Palpatine’s ear, “The shrew, Amidala, along with several others. Shall I send them in?”

Anakin pretended not to hear the insult. He could feel Padme in the adjoining room, a key member of the Delegation. Her thoughts dwelled on the Chancellor, her emotions clouded with hostility. Her fellow delegates were of a similar mind. He sensed much anger and trepidation, and he wondered if Palpatine was aware of it on some level. It was possible that the man had some Force sensitivity. He was too perceptive to be entirely Force blind. Anakin watched him carefully, noting the way his shoulders seemed to sag beneath a great weight.

Pestage guided him back to his chair, where he collapsed with his head in hands. His words came out muffled, “I am so weary of this.”

Anakin sprang forward to assume control of the situation, jabbing a calloused finger at Pestage. “Send the Delegation away,” he said, overriding the thin man when he opened his mouth to challenge Anakin’s authority, “and cancel all remaining appointments. The Chancellor is dangerously overworked. He needs to rest.”

Pestage glanced at Palpatine, and then back to Anakin. Palpatine certainly looked exhausted, but Pestage was clearly loath to follow out the boy’s orders without some signal from the Chancellor himself. “Senator Amidala won’t be pleased,” he commented when Anakin drew him aside.

“I’ll deal with her later,” the boy muttered.

Pestage smirked, “I bet you will.” He bowed to the Chancellor and departed without another word. 

Anakin shot him a backwards glance. Two of the red-robed sentries were now stationed on either side of the interior door. He lowered his voice so as not be overheard, bending to address the seated figure behind the desk. “When this war is over, you should retire to the countryside of Naboo,” he said, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch the Chancellor’s sleeve; he could feel an unnatural chill emanating from the old man, even through the thick fabric of his outer robe.

Palpatine’s head snapped up, eyes glaring. Anakin had been speaking from a place of concern, but Palpatine looked personally offended by the remark. He slapped the boy’s hand away, face contorting into a hateful snarl before smoothing out into a blank, expressionless mask. “Is that your wife speaking?” He said, blinking lazily.

Anakin froze. He tried to speak, but his tongue felt swollen, lips numb with shock.

Palpatine spun in his chair and rose to his feet, brushing past Anakin who followed wordlessly behind, moving in a daze as the other man led him down a narrow hallway. Only when they were finally alone together in the Chancellor’s private sitting room did he again find his voice.

“How long have you known?” He asked.

Anakin was standing near a tall black floor vase, arms folded stiffly across his chest. His attention was fixed on the Chancellor, eyes boring into the back of his head.

“I have always known,” Palpatine replied smoothly as he poured himself a cup of tea.

It seemed like a boast, but Anakin didn’t doubt that Palpatine was telling the truth. He wanted to demand an explanation — how had Palpatine found out? — but there was a more pressing matter at hand.

“Pestage,” he spat the man’s name.

Palpatine tilted his head. “What about him?”

Anakin tried to catch the Chancellor’s gaze as Palpatine lowered himself to sit on the edge of a plush couch. “Does he know as well?” He asked, recalling the _look_ the other man had given him.

Palpatine sipped his tea; he seemed to be contemplating whether or not to answer. At last he said, “You should thank him. Your public indiscretions are many, or so I’m told. Sate is charged with destroying the evidence. Any security footage that might prove embarrassing, that is to say.” He peered at Anakin over the rim of his steaming cup, a sharp smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You really should be more discreet, my boy.”

Anakin’s face became heated. Was Palpatine implying…? Did Sate Pestage have footage of him and Padme? He shifted in place, violently scratching an itch. It made his skin crawl to think of Pestage secretly watching his interactions with Padme. What had the man seen? He and Padme were always careful to keep up appearances in public, but occasionally Anakin liked to tempt fate by kissing his wife as they strolled the empty corridors of the Senate building. He didn’t have many opportunities to be alone with Padme, and he cherished every moment.

A thought occurred to him and he made an involuntary noise in his throat. Had Palpatine seen the footage?

Blushing furiously, he could barely bring himself to meet the man’s softy chiding gaze as he spoke. “You know, Anakin, if word of your marriage ever leaked to the press…Well, you’re not the only one who’s reputation could be tarnished by such a scandal. We Naboo are very traditional, after all.”

“Padme,” Anakin croaked, feeling a stab of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

“I was thinking of myself, actually,” Palpatine said with a dry laugh, setting his teacup aside and throwing a shawl over his legs.

“You?”

“Padme was my queen, and she in now the senator of my home world,” he said simply. “Her indiscretions would reflect poorly on me, and I can’t have that.”

Indiscretion. Is that what Palpatine thought his marriage boiled down to? An indiscretion?

He reminded himself that Palpatine had never been married; the man obviously didn’t understand the depth of his feeling. Anakin stepped towards him, holding out his gloved hands, palms facing upwards. “This is why I need to know about the legend,” he said with a note of panic. “Because of Padme. I’ve been having dreams about her…”

Palpatine raised his brow and slid his gaze upwards, locking eyes with the young Jedi. “Dreams?” He asked, voice peaked with curiosity.

“The sort of dreams I had about my mother,” Anakin said, trusting Palpatine to understand. He had confided in the old man about his nightmares, later confessing to the massacre of the Sand People. “She’s pregnant,” he added, blushing. Did Palpatine know that, too? Anakin searched his face, but his pale eyes revealed nothing. “In my dreams she dies in agony. She dies giving birth…”

Palpatine put a finger to his lips. He hardly seemed bothered by the prospect of Padme’s death. Normally Anakin took comfort in the sense of calm the Chancellor exuded, but he now found it disturbing. “And the child?”

Anakin shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

The Chancellor sighed. “I want to help you, Anakin. But you must understand my position. Before I share my knowledge with you, I require certain, ah, assurances.”

“I’ll do anything,” Anakin rasped, balling his fists, his words hoarse with angry desperation.

Palpatine leaned back, steepling his fingers in thought. “Will you renounce the Jedi Order?” He asked lightly.

The boy wavered. “What? You want me to…?” He trailed off, uncertain.

Palpatine flicked his hand. “You don’t need to make a public declaration,” he said, laughing. “But I would like to hear you say it.”

“Say…?”

“Say that you renounce the Jedi Order. Is that so hard?”

Yes, Anakin thought to himself, but he refrained from saying this aloud. The Jedi were his family. Of all the things Palpatine might ask of him, why this?

“Must you ask that?” Palpatine replied when Anakin said as much. “I told you. I need some assurance that you won’t betray me to your Jedi Masters.”

Anakin cried out in frustration, “I would never betray you, Excellency.”

The old man settled deeper into his seat and turned his head sharply to stare at the black vase in the corner of the room. A muscle twitched in his cheek and he bit back a smile. Something about the vase seemed to amuse him. “I wish I could believe that,” he said, tracking the boy’s movement as he began to frantically pace.

“I swear,” Anakin said, coming to a sudden halt in front of the couch where Palpatine was comfortably reposed. “I swear on my life, I will never betray you.” The words tore from his throat, raw and aching. 

“Is that so?” Palpatine went still, his eyes glittering in their deep sockets.

Silence thickened the room, disrupted by the sound of Anakin’s ragged breathing. “Yes,” he said, swallowing his hesitation.

Then the Force whispered in his ear.

_Bow_.

Anakin almost rebelled against the unwanted suggestion, but he did not want to risk upsetting whatever tentative progress he had made with the Chancellor. Lowering his gaze, he sunk to his knees, prostrating himself on the red carpet. “I’ll do anything to save her.”

The Force rippled with some dark emotion. He could hear Palpatine’s deep voice purring in his ear, “Anything?”


End file.
